has achieved the perfection
of a tangled grassy bank
where cowslips and violet grow,
wild tulip and orchid to follow,
and where a drift of sloe,
blooming white, beheld a vision:
a swallowtail, newly hatched,
black cloisonné and liquid lemon,
unfurled its coiled tongue
to let nectar flow up through it
with the pulsebeat of the sun
and not a single thought.
From Notes From a Mountain Village, forthcoming with Barbican Press in 2015.